by Frances E. W. Harper · 1895
Poetry · Classics
Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, one of the most widely read Black poets of her day, on freedom, women, work and faith.
Content note: Written in 1895, these poems deal with slavery and racism and use language of their time.
My mother’s kiss, my mother’s kiss, I feel its impress now; As in the bright and happy days She pressed it on my brow.
You say it is a fancied thing Within my memory fraught; To me it has a sacred place— The treasure house of thought.
Again, I feel her fingers glide Amid my clustering hair; I see the love-light in her eyes, When all my life was fair.
Again, I hear her gentle voice In warning or in love. How precious was the faith that taught My soul of things above.
2The music of her voice is stilled, Her lips are paled in death. As precious pearls I’ll clasp her words Until my latest breath.
The world has scattered round my path Honor and wealth and fame; But naught so precious as the thoughts That gather round her name.
And friends have placed upon my brow The laurels of renown; But she first taught me how to wear My manhood as a crown.
My hair is silvered o’er with age, I’m longing to depart; To clasp again my mother’s hand, And be a child at heart.
To roam with her the glory-land Where saints and angels greet; To cast our crowns with songs of love At our Redeemer’s feet.
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